


A Common Bond

by headrush100



Series: Free Will [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headrush100/pseuds/headrush100
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An eventful day in the life of a potential and a watcher. Set early-mid season 7 of BtVS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Common Bond

Ever since she’d got to Buffy’s house, Holly woke early. She didn’t like waking up early, but she liked sleeping on the floor with eight other girls even less. They were older than her, and there wasn’t a single second they let her forget it. Some of the girls seemed like they might be nice, but Holly was too shy to really talk to them. They were strong, and loud, and had boyfriends back home, and talked about sex, like, all the time. It was totally disgusting. But the worst thing was, there was nowhere she could go to get away from them, and it was never, ever quiet.

The only time it was quiet here was in the early mornings. By the time the other girls had woken up, fought over what belonged to who, and had breakfast and showers, two or three hours of the day would already be over. That was two or three hours less that she’d have to make herself invisible and two or three hours closer to when she could go home. Maybe she could get out of here without ever having fought the First, whatever that even *was*. She’d already seen it in her nightmares, like last night, when she’d dreamed she was talking to her best friend Isabella, and then Isabella went away and the First had used her mouth to talk with. She’d woken up scared and sweaty and wanting mum and dad so badly it had hurt and she’d had to go into the bathroom to be sick. 

At least, it was two or three hours when she could be alone, read her book, and try to forget where she was, try to pretend she was at home in Henley again.

This morning, Giles had beat her to the kitchen. Which was good, because she got to be alone with him, and bad, because being alone with him made her wish she was wearing her favourite jeans and t-shirt instead of her ripped-in-the-dryer t-shirt, pyjama trousers, and bear paw slippers. She felt exactly five years old. As usual. 

He wasn’t a morning person either, going by his expression. Still, he smiled at her. More like a grimace, really, but a friendly one, which she returned, even though she really didn’t feel like smiling.

“I suppose you want one of these vile things,” he said, picking up the box of Boo-Berry Pop-Tarts.

“Um, two.” She had a sudden image of her mother’s darkening expression, and added, “Please.” She hauled herself up onto the high kitchen stool. 

He nodded, and dropped them into the toaster.

“Did you know someone did an experiment to make Pop-Tarts explode?”

He looked up. “Xander.”

She giggled. “No, on the internet.”

“Ah.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t get any ideas.” 

She watched him as he made his tea. He always had English Breakfast, except when he had Earl Grey. And he had real English tea bags, which Willow said he got from a gourmet shop, which was funny. Holly didn’t drink tea, but if American tea really tasted like what her father said it did, she could understand why Giles didn’t like it. The toaster spat up the Pop-Tarts. Giles yanked them out, burnt his fingers, swore under his breath, and dropped them onto a plate, which he put in front of her. He picked up a couple of books and his tea, and went out the back door.

She watched him go, wanting to be alone, and not, at the same time. She was lonely, and he was the only one she could stand to be around. *Liked* to be around, actually. Not that she would let him know that in a million freaking years. Buffy was so lucky to have Giles as her watcher. He was so nice, and funny, and easy to be around. He was cool, and he talked to her like she was a real person, not someone who was just in the way all the time. He didn’t act like he had anything to prove. He did, however, act like grownups ought to act, and that was reassuring. 

Holly slid off the stool, picked up her book and the Pop-Tarts, and followed him out the back door and onto the porch, where he was sitting at one end of the steps. She sat down at the other. He smiled slightly as she sat down, but that was it. That was one of the things she liked about Giles; the fact that he didn’t have to *talk* all the time.

He read, and she read, until his voice startled her. 

“‘The Eagle of the Ninth’,” he murmured, squinting at the spine. “Good story. Decent history.”

“Pretty good history.”

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a Rosemary Sutcliff fan. Or is it the Romans you’re interested in?” 

Holly turned the old book over on her knee and ran a hand over its worn, dark red cloth binding. “It’s my dad’s. He said I should read it. He bought a new one before I left, so that we can still be reading it together, kind of. We each read a chapter a day.” It made her feel closer to him. The book even smelled like home. “He took me to Reading, to see the real Eagle in the museum there.”

“What did you think?”

“Cool.”

He grinned. “Worth a diversion, then, next time I’m in Reading?”

“Yeah. I’ll take you.” She stopped herself, but not, she knew, before her face had gone bright red.

He smiled. “I’d like that.”

She smiled back, relieved, and tried to read the spine of his book, but it was too worn. He held up the inside for her to see the handwritten notes and old-fashioned drawings. “It’s a watcher’s diary from the eleventh century. I’m looking for references to the First, or to anything that might help us defeat it.”

It sounded like fun. “I’d rather be a watcher than a slayer.”

He smiled. “Why’s that?”

“I’d rather read than fight.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but they both jumped as the back door crashed open, followed by smoke and the smell of burning toast.

“Yo, Giles! We gotta toaster emergency!”

“Bloody hell,” said Holly, just to see what he would do.

Giles blinked, grinned, and gave her a long-suffering look as he stood up. “Excuse me.”

***

It felt kind of empty on the porch after Giles left, so Holly went back upstairs to take a shower, then went back to her room to find her hair scrunchie. She opened the bedroom door and saw seventeen-year-old Carla standing there with ‘The Eagle of the Ninth’ in her hand. 

“What’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?”

“Give it back.”

“This ain’t yours.”

“Yes, it is!” Holly strode up to Carla and grabbed at the book.

Carla pushed her away. “This ain’t no kiddie book.”

“It’s mine! Give it back!”

Carla shoved her aside, jumped up on the bed, and started reading aloud to an audience of four or five other girls in melodramatic, halting speech, tripping over words Holly had known for years.

“Es… Esca had chosen his symbol well, he thought: between the formal pattern on his dagger-sheath and the… formless yet potent beauty of the… shield boss lay all the distance that could lie between two worlds. And yet between… individual people, people like Es… Esca, and Marcus, and Cot… Cot… Cottia, the distance narrowed so that you could reach across it, one to another, so that it ceased to matter.” She flipped the book over irreverently. “What *is* this shit?” 

Everyone turned to look at Holly, who knew she was going bright red again.

Carla had no right to be touching anything that belonged to her and her father. All Holly could manage to say was, “No.”

“Then why you showing off like that? You can’t read this shit!” Her expression changed. “Oh, *I* know why you’re doin’ it! You think this is gonna impress *Giles*!”

“No, I don’t! Shut up!” Holly’s chest ached with anger and embarrassment that it would do her no good to express. Carla was way stronger, and meaner, than she was. “Give it back!”

Carla pursed her lips. “What if I don’t want to, yet? What if I wanna read it? What if *I* wanna impress Giles, too?”

“Give it back!” 

One of the older girls spoke up at last. “Carla, just give it to her.” A couple of the others mumbled agreement.

“Nope.” Carla jumped down off the bed with a thud, and tore out of the room. Holly had no choice but to go after her. She chased her round the house, and when she caught up with her in the kitchen, Carla pretended she didn’t know what Holly was talking about.

Holly felt sick. The book was gone. Daddy had trusted her with it; given it to her for comfort and to give them what he called “a common bond” while she was far away.

Buffy blasted through the kitchen. “Training! Back yard! Now!”

Everyone did what Buffy said. So Holly went out and took her place at the back. She did the warm-ups, the laps, the kickboxing, the ju-jitsu, the everything. Then they had to spar, as usual, for a couple of hours, to build up stamina so they could fight for a long time without getting tired. Everyone chose a partner and got started. Holly was paired up with a not-too-reluctant fourteen year old called Abigail. 

After about half an hour, Buffy blew her whistle. “Okay, now switch partners and spar with the person on your right!”

It was Carla, and the look on her face was more than Holly could bear. With a surge of anger unlike anything she’d ever felt before, she rushed the older girl and hooked her leg round Carla’s, bringing her crashing to the ground. Of course, it was only a matter of seconds before Carla rolled on top of her to deliver a punch to the face and a barrage of swear words. Holly wasn’t listening and didn’t care. She just kept hitting and hitting and hitting.

Suddenly the weight was off her and Holly was jerked to her feet. Someone had her by the scruff of her shirt and one arm, and was propelling her across the garden and back towards the house so fast she was almost too dizzy to try to fight them off. It was only when they reached the living room that she realised it was Giles holding onto her, and he was *mad*. She’d never seen him really mad before.

She thought he was going to stop in the living room, but he kept going, probably because there were people – she didn’t dare look to see who – sitting on the couch. He steered her to the foyer.

“Upstairs. I’ll be up in a minute,” was all he said, but the way he said it made her stomach do flip flops. She went up to the filthy bedroom, which was still dark because nobody had bothered to open the curtains, threw herself down on her sleeping bag, and cried.

She was glad Giles didn’t come up right away. By the time he knocked on the door, she’d pulled herself together, mostly, though her face was hot and she couldn’t open her eye properly. She ached in a dozen places where she’d been thumped.

He knocked again. “May I come in?”

She was very surprised that he asked. She said yes automatically, because even though he pretended to ask, like all grownups, he would do whatever he wanted anyway.

He opened the door and paused for a moment, silhouetted against the light in the hall Holly couldn’t see his expression, and her stomach knotted. She wanted to say she was sorry, that she’d never done anything like that before; that the strength of her anger had scared her. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t sorry. It wasn’t her fault what Carla had done, and as for the rest, he had no reason to believe her.

Giles turned on the light and came in, holding something in each hand. Holly pulled herself upright with her back to the wall, her hand over her throbbing eye. He sat on the unmade bed, which made him look very big. He stared at her for a second, then got up, picked his way over the tangled mess of sleeping bags, luggage, clothes, and other junk, and lowered himself down next to her with a wince. 

He put the flannel and a cold pack on the floor beside him, and gave her a long, steady look. “How you doing?”

She didn’t know what to say, so didn’t say anything. She was just waiting for the yelling to start.

“Take your hand away. Let me see.” She dropped her hand, and he gently prodded around her head and eye. “That’s going to be a black eye soon, and you’re lucky it’s not a lot worse. Carla’s a great deal bigger and stronger than you.”

She gave him as much of a patronising look as she could manage, considering. “I know.”

“She’s also your ally.”

“What?”

“On your side.”

“I know what it means!” How could he say that? “She’s not my ally!”

“Yes, she is!” Giles barked, making her jump. “You don’t have to be friends, but you *do* have to be allies. You *do* have to get along. You *do* have to work as a team. You *do* have to respect each other. You do *not* fight one another! Do that, and you’re as good as dead; we’re *all* as good as dead, do you understand?”

She was crying again, like a baby, incredibly embarrassed to be doing it in front of him. Even worse was that his yelling at her felt like a betrayal, and he was the only person she’d started to trust around here. She never thought he would tell her off the way he did the older girls; she never thought he’d have a reason to. And it wasn’t even her fault.

“I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.” He softened his tone. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

She shook her head, unable to speak even if she’d wanted to.

“You sure?”

She nodded. She couldn’t really tell if he believed her or not, but he handed her the wet flannel. “Wash your face, and it won’t be so sore. Then put this on your eye.” He moved the cold pack closer to her.

Without a word, she obeyed.

“Are you unhappy?” he said, then checked himself. “Let me rephrase that. *Why* are you unhappy?”

It was too embarrassing to talk about. ”It doesn’t matter.”

“You’ve only been here two weeks. You must be missing home a great deal.”

She nodded. 

“I’m truly sorry about that. Given your age, it’s only natural that you’re feeling the separation more than some of the others. However, as I explained to your parents, and to you, the First will send its servants after you. You need to be somewhere you can be protected, and you need to be away from your family so that you don’t attract danger to them.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“I realise that the danger doesn’t seem very real just yet – ”

This was too much. “Oh yes, it does!” She stood up, the anger not allowing her to keep still anymore. “I know what everyone’s saying, and Buffy and Faith never shut up about how dangerous it is, and how we can get killed! And I’ve seen the First! I saw it last night!” 

Giles’s mouth fell open, and he stood up too. “What? When?”

“In my dream! I was dreaming that me and Isabella were in my room, and she started talking in a weird, evil voice, and told me everyone…” it was getting hard to breathe, “was going to die!”

He blinked, confused. “Who’s Isabella?”

“My best friend at home.”

“And she was talking to you in a dream.”

“Yes!”

“And did you believe what she was saying?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean? What can I do against something like that?” She wasn’t even allowed to go to school by herself.

Giles was quiet for a minute, and then he relaxed a bit. He sat on the bed and patted the place next to him. Holly sat.

“Right. First of all, what you dreamt about wasn’t really the First. It was just a bad dream. It’s hardly surprising you should have nightmares, given what you’re hearing around the house all day. Everybody’s frightened, and they’re just talking. It doesn’t mean that they know what they’re talking about, or that they’re right. If you’re scared, and you want to ask a question, you ask me. All right?” 

She nodded.

“Second,” he said, “I think the best way to make you feel a bit safer is to show you what you can do. Give you a taste of what being a slayer is all about, and why you’re here in the first place. Show you how good fighting – properly – can feel. Why the forces of evil fear you, and are trying to stop you.”

She looked at him in sheer disbelief.

“It’s true. I haven’t wanted to take you out on patrols before now; I thought it was a bit too soon. Perhaps I was wrong. Tonight, you’ll join us on patrol.”

Holly’s stomach did another flip flop.

He smiled, and squeezed her shoulder as he stood up. “You’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

***

That evening Holly wore sensible clothes and trainers, as Giles had told her to. After numerous trips to the bathroom, she bounced from foot to foot by the front door, too nervous to sit down. She wasn’t happy to see Carla come through the living room. Carla didn’t look happy to see her, either. There was a huge bruise on her cheek. Luckily, Giles appeared then, and so did Buffy.

“Right, everybody ready?” he said.

Carla looked disgusted. “Let me get this straight. It’s just you and Buffy and me and…” she acted as if she didn’t know Holly’s name.

“Holly,” said Holly. Every time she spoke, it made her face hurt.

“You got a problem with that?” said Buffy.

“No,” said Carla, “but I ain’t watching her ass.”

“And I ain’t watching yours,” Holly shot back. She hated sounding like such a brat in front of Giles, but in a way she was proud of herself; before coming here, she’d never have been rude back to someone as old as Carla, no matter how much they asked for it. 

“What did I say?” Giles snapped, but he looked at Carla as well as Holly.

They nodded.

“Okay. Everybody is watching everybody else’s ass. Let’s go. We’ve all got other stuff to do,” said Buffy, and she was out the door.

The dark car ride to the cemetery was filled with Buffy and Giles giving them advice and orders. When they arrived, everybody took a stake from Giles’s bag, but Giles and Buffy took extra weapons that Holly and Carla didn’t know how to use yet, even though Carla claimed she did.

Holly had never been near a fresh grave before, even at home, let alone standing beside one waiting for something to crawl out of it. She’d always been told ghosts and vampires and all those things didn’t exist. The only thing that kept her from running was the fact that she just couldn’t do it in front of Giles. She’d had enough humiliation for one day.

After half an hour or so, the loose earth on top of the grave started to shift around. The smell that came next made Holly want to throw up.

“This is it,” said Buffy.

A wizened hand broke through the soil, just like in a horror film, groping around as if hoping someone would help them.

Matted, filthy black hair followed, and then the rest of the body. The vampire stood on his grave, staring back at them in astonishment. “Who are you?” he croaked.

“Carla,” said Carla, jutting out her chin. “The vampire slayer. Who the fuck are you?” 

Holly didn’t think that antagonising it was a good idea, but Buffy and Giles just shared a glance and didn’t say anything. The vampire – Kevin Lambert, according to his tombstone – suddenly grinned. His teeth were fangs. His forehead was bony ridges. His eyes were dirty yellow. He lunged for Carla, who instantly knocked him back with a front snap kick. 

“Good,” said Buffy. “Keep him in front of you.”

They watched Carla go, Buffy and Giles occasionally shouting directions at her, and murmuring comments on her technique to one another. Holly realised that she was glued to Giles’s side, but she couldn’t bring herself to move away.

“Woo, way to go, Carla!” Buffy suddenly yelled. The vampire was gone.

Carla twirled the stake like a gun, and shoved it into the waistband of her jeans. They started walking again. As soon as Buffy and Giles were ahead of them, she grabbed Holly by the collar of her jacket and pulled her close to hiss into her ear. 

“Beat that, loquita.”

“Don’t *touch* me!” Holly shoved her away.

Giles turned around and gave them a look indicating he was on a short fuse. 

Buffy was walking on ahead of Giles, and stopped at another grave. “Okay, Holly, this one’s yours.”

Again they waited. This time when the dirt started moving, Holly’s heart started to pound. She didn’t realise she’d backed up against Giles till she felt his fingertips digging into her back, urging her forward. 

“We’ll do this first one together, yes?” he said.

“Okay.” She hoped that sounded as casual as she meant it to.

The vampire hauled himself up out of the dirt and bared its fangs. Holly was shaking.

“Stand your ground. Let it come within reach,” Giles said quietly. “Don’t let it see you’re frightened.”

Suddenly the vampire was coming at her. Holly felt an incredible surge of energy. Not anger, not fear, but a completely new feeling of *rightness*. As it rushed her, she followed her instinct and ran to meet it; at the last moment she rammed her stake into its chest. She hit the ground covered in greasy, sticky ash, utterly exhilarated.

“Oh, my God! Did you see?” she said. “That was… that was…”

“That it was,” Giles said, with a grin. 

“Feels good, huh?” said Buffy, looking happy for once.

Carla came to stand over her. “You really are crazy.” She offered her hand. 

Holly took it, and let Carla pull her up. The shock on Giles and Buffy’s faces made her laugh. “Are there more?”

“Vampires? I expect so,” said Giles.

“I want to do more! I’m not scared now!”

“Can it, chica,” said Carla. “You don’t wanna lose your edge right outta the gate, yo.”

“Carla’s right,” said Buffy. “Lose the fear completely, and you’re in deep… big trouble.”

And then they turned around to head back to the car and saw the Bringers who’d been standing behind them, watching. Their axes glinted in the lamplight.

Giles grabbed Holly by her jacket and pulled her behind him, whispering, “*Run!* We’ll distract them.” 

“No! I’m not leaving you!” Though where she got the courage to say so, Holly had no idea. 

Giles rounded on her, blazing. “Do as I say! *Run!*” 

Holly and Carla watched Buffy and Giles close the distance between themselves and the Bringers. They saw Buffy circling, keeping her opponents off balance as she always told them to do, graceful and eager for the fight. Giles sized up his opponents with deliberation before shooting one in the eye socket with a crossbow, and beheading the other a split second later. They heard him shout a warning, allowing Buffy to duck an axe blow. They watched her break the neck of one who had Giles by the throat.

They watched two people fighting four demons, and with a shared glance and nod, joined in.

Holly tried to size up her opponents like Giles did, before flinging herself onto the axe handle of the one that was bearing down on him. She didn’t quite have Buffy’s grace or strength, and found herself on the damp ground, the Bringer’s axe beneath her, the demon priest whirling down on her. He grabbed her by her shirtfront and lifted her up. She pushed her stake into his eye socket with one hand, and slammed it home with the other.

The Bringer fell down dead, and Holly hit the ground again. When she wiped her eyes clear, Carla was there, offering her a hand up again. She loosed a string of Spanish which Holly knew had to be rude, but sounded approving. Together, they took up positions near to Buffy and Giles, helping them with shouted warnings and tag-team attacks.

It was going great until Carla got backed up against the side of a crypt. Giles and Buffy were too far away, and Holly ignored the shouted orders to wait for them. Just as she reached the Bringer, it spun round. There was a flash of white, then everything went black.

***

She woke up in pain like nothing she’d ever felt before. Her head was exploding with it. She clutched at her head and screwed her eyes shut tight against the light. She had no idea where she was, except that she was lying on a bed, and still had her muddy jacket on.

“Thank God. Holly?” said a voice she eventually realised was Giles’s. “Holly?” he repeated, “Can you hear me?”

Eyes still shut, she nodded. 

“Good,” he said, sounding so relieved it made her like him all the more. How badly was she hurt, anyway? She wanted her dad. “Can you open your eyes just for a moment?” She could, just barely. She stifled a groan. It felt like that one time she’d tried to sleep on the ferry to France. Up and down, side to side, sick-making. 

Giles was sitting on the bed beside her. Gently but firmly, he pulled her hands away from her face. He pressed the aching place on her forehead, and it felt like an explosion went off in her brain. When he took his hands away, there was blood on them. A bloodstained flannel was folded up on his leg.

“Sorry. Had to clean it up a bit. You’ve got a hell of a lump there. Which is a good sign, believe it or not. I’m going to very quickly check for a concussion. Keep your eyes open. Look at me.” He shone a penlight into her eyes while she wondered what a concussion was. “Hm,” was all he said, and he didn’t sound happy. “Can you breathe all right?”

She took some experimental breaths, and nodded again.

“Good. Do you remember what happened?”

She thought. “I remember the graveyard… vampires. Bringers.” 

“You don’t recall running after the Bringer that was attacking Carla?”

She strained to remember. “No.”

“Well, you distracted it, I shot it, and Buffy killed it. When you got close to it, it turned round and gave you a good crack on the head with its fist. It knocked you out. We’d have taken you straight to hospital but for Xander warning us there were Bringers hanging around there.”

“Oh.” She put her hand up to stop the warm trickle from her nose. When she took her hand away, it was covered in blood. She stared at it in alarm.

Giles yanked some tissues from a box on the floor and handed them to her. “Do you know where you are?” 

For a frightening moment, she couldn’t think. Then she heard a shout from downstairs. “Buffy’s house.”

He half-smiled. “That’s right. However, Dawn yelling “Hey, Buffy” might have provided a clue, so let’s try another. What day is it?”

It took a second, but she got it. “Saturday.”

“Who’s prime minister?”

This time she did draw a blank.

“How about five times five?”

“Giles,” she protested, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. Her head was killing her.

“Just answer it.”

She thought. “Twenty… five.” Why was thinking so hard?

“Good.” Giles reached out to gently squeeze her nose. “That hurt?”

“No.” 

He tweaked it a little harder. “It’s not broken. Any teeth loose?”

She poked them with her tongue. “No.”

“Dizzy?” 

“Yes.”

“Feel sick?”

“Yes.” 

He went and got a basin, which he put on the bed beside her. “How’s your vision? Clear? Blurry?”

“Kind of blurry.”

He nodded. “Have you had any head injuries before?”

“No.”

He smiled, but not like he was laughing at her. “Well, you do now. You have a concussion. You’ll be all right. I’ve survived a fair few of them myself.”

That was something they had in common. A common bond of people who had concussions, she thought sleepily. “Giles?”

“Yes, Holly.”

“Can a person be a watcher *and* a slayer?”

He smiled. “As far as I know, there’s nothing to say one can’t be.”

“That’s what I’ll be, then. Giles?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Fighting… I won’t fight with Carla anymore.”

“That’s cool,” came Carla’s voice from the doorway. “I won’t fight with you anymore, either.” She walked over to the bed and held up the familiar, cloth-bound volume. “I just came to return this. I’m sorry,” she said, with a glance at Giles, “About before.”

“It’s okay,” said Holly, trying to be gracious. She yawned, and winced. She would just close her eyes for a minute.

“Holly, come here. Sit up,” said Giles, urging her upright against the pillows. “Sorry, but you’re going to have to stay awake for a bit.” He gestured to a pile of books and papers by the bed. “I’ve brought in some work I can do while I keep you company.”

“Will you read to me?” asked Holly. “I haven’t read my chapter today.”

Without waiting for a response, Carla handed him the book and sat down without a word. 

Giles opened it, and started to read.

 

End.


End file.
